


What Might've Been Lost

by rarelypoetic



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Episode: s02e06, M/M, Massage, Mention of Canonical Character Death, Past Abuse, Post-Finale, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarelypoetic/pseuds/rarelypoetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon confesses that he almost killed Kieren. The two share some time alone after the final scene in the graveyard. Takes place directly after the events of the last episode of season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might've Been Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Written at 4 am and by no means perfect. Title taken from "The Wolves (Act I & II)" by Bon Iver. If you want to talk to me about In the Flesh or almost any other tv show: excaliburcas.tumblr.com. Not nearly enough people watch this absolute fuckin gem of a show.

They'd been arguing relentlessly from the moment they stepped inside the bungalow.

“Kieren, didn't you hear me the first time? I tried to _kill_ you.”

“No. No, you didn’t. You were told to, but you didn’t go through with it.”

“I had the knife in my hand up until the moment I realized I’d just taken a bullet for you.”

Kieren laughed incredulously. “Did you just hear yourself? I mean, you literally took a bullet for me, and you’re prattling on about how your plan was to kill me all along.”

Simon hung his head. “I don’t know what I was even thinking. I’ve hurt enough people that I care for, I’ve...”

“Simon, mate, you’re not hearing me.” Kieren cupped a hand under Simon’s chin and urged him to meet his eyes. “Listen to me.”

Simon’s eyes darted to the side. He shut them and let a out a shuddering breath.

“Listen,” Kieren repeated softly, so as not to spook him. “Look at me.”

Simon, visibly reluctant, drew his gaze from the ground and gave Kieren an evasive once-over. His eyes were almost completely white, no real distinction between iris and cornea. The only evidence he could see anything at all was in the way his pupils dilated significantly when he looked at Kieren.

“Believe me, I know self-deprecation. I know what it’s like to think you’re at fault for hurting someone.” Kieren paused and gave him a moment to let this sink in. “But you didn’t hurt me, did you? I’m okay. You saved me, Simon.”

Simon cleared his throat uncomfortably and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, starting to pull away from Kieren. Kieren’s fingers pressed more firmly into his shoulder, keeping him put.

“I’m okay,” he said again, more emphatically. “And I forgive you.”

At this, Simon hesitated a moment. Forgiveness? Maybe that’s what he’d been looking for all along. His father had almost forgiven him. Almost. His mother would never have a chance to forgive him. Amy probably forgave him for stealing Kieren away and abandoning her, but she had never explicitly said it to him and she was dead now, anyway -- oh christ, she was _dead_ , and--

“Hey,” Kieren insisted. “You heard what I said, right? I mean it.”

Simon nodded lethargically, feeling as though he were stuck under a thousand feet of water. Kieren’s fingers relaxed their hold on him, sliding gently down his arm. He took hold of Simon’s hands, squeezing for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Now can we bloody move on from this sob fest? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my fill of misery for this evening.”  
There it was. That stupid, boyish charm that Simon found himself falling for every single time. Perhaps it helped explain why the boy had such a hold on him when they’d only known each other for a fraction of the time they’d spent in limbo, lingering between life and death.

Kieren ended up leading them both to the empty bedroom in the bungalow after a mutual agreement that they had no where else they wanted to be. There was certainly no one in town who had any nice words for Simon at this point, and Kieren wasn’t too keen on going home just yet, after all the drama with his parents. The bungalow was a like a haven for right now, though Simon had to concede that it probably wouldn’t be safe for much longer. The rest of the ULA knew where he lived and were liable to come looking for him sooner or later. At least half the undead population of Roarton had a bone to pick with him, too.

At least there was Kieren. If the bungalow was a safe haven, Kieren was his anchor. He’d never met someone who was so was so strong-willed and passionate about his convictions, yet reasonable enough not to be fanatical. Simon felt moored, centered, just by being near him. He’d meant it when he told Kieren he was incredible. If Simon thought he would tolerate it, he could go on for a few hours about how utterly fucking fantastic he thought Kieren was. Talk about a diamond in the rough of this Podunk town.

They’d been sprawled across the bedcovers for at least an hour before Kieren made any move to actually get comfortable. The first thing he did was to shrug off his peacoat and unravel the scarf from his neck. Then he methodically unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and proceeded to undo the rest of the buttons on his dress shirt. Underneath, he wore a plain white sleeveless undershirt; he fingered the hem of it for a moment before taking that off, too.

That was new.

What with the impending “Second Rising”, Simon’s foray into the city, and Kieren’s house arrest, they hadn’t had much time alone together, and as a result, their intimacy hadn’t extended beyond the few kisses they shared before things really went to shit.

Kieren sat with his back facing him, so for a while all Simon saw of him was the pallid, unblemished expanse of his back, the bony jut of his shoulder blades, and the hint of what might’ve been freckles - a dusting of tiny taupe specks on his shoulders, and a few on his lower back which disappeared into the waistband of his slacks.

“You have freckles,” was all Simon could think to say.

“Yeah,” Kieren said, sounding a little amused. “I used to have a lot of them I was a kid, but when I got into my teens they only really cropped up when I spent time in the sun.” He glanced at Simon over his shoulder, which he lifted in a half-shrug. “Before I died, just before Rick was shipped out, we spent some time out in the fields together. Guess that’s where I got these.” He gestured at the almost translucent skin of his back.

Simon reached out a hand to touch before he remembered himself. “Can I--”

“Yes,” Kieren said, sure of himself like he always seemed to be these days.

Simon grazed his fingertips over a particularly dense patch of freckles on Kieren’s left shoulder blade, tracing the incomprehensible but no less mesmerizing pattern they made. Kieren unbuttoned his trousers and kicked them off in a single clumsy motion before swinging his legs on to the bed and lying down on the left side with his bare back facing Simon.

Simon took this as the invitation that it was, trailing his fingers down his spine in a gesture that wasn’t so much sexual as it was comforting. Maybe in a different context it would have been arousing, but today had been long and harrowing, and he wasn’t looking for gratification right now. Just... closeness.

Kieren breathed out an entire lungful of air, shimmying back into Simon’s palm like he’d been craving the touch for a long time. Simon added his other palm into the mix somewhere around the time that Kieren’s breathing levelled off into an even, leisurely tempo. He used his left hand to continue tracing while his right began to massage careful circles into the taut muscles of Kieren’s shoulders.

Kieren completely deflated at this, melting into Simon’s palms like he trusted him whole-heartedly. Only hours ago Simon had been holding a knife that was to be stained in Kieren’s blood. The thought almost made him recoil, but Simon steeled himself. If Kieren wanted to be touched by him, he wasn't going to stop because of his own misgivings. Kieren deserved this, deserved to be touched like he was worth something more than just a sacrificial lamb.

Simon knew that if someone put that knife in his hands again and told him he had a do-over,a second chance to bring about another rising, he wouldn’t hesitate to drop the blade. He wouldn’t hurt Kieren. He knew that now, but it didn’t change how he felt about his earlier intentions. Everything had been made so much clearer when that trigger was pulled. “Kier,” Simon murmured. He’d never called him by his nickname before, but it seemed appropriate in this intimate setting. Kieren mumbled a little to indicate he was listening. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thank you. For understanding. For forgiving me even when I don’t deserve it. For putting your trust in me.”

Kieren shifted so that he was facing Simon. His eyes were soft in the warm glow cast about the room by the sunset. He didn’t say anything, but he placed his hand over Simon’s heart and tucked his head in closer to Simon's chest.

Fifteen minutes passed in idle touches and tandem breathing. The room had gone dark now, but Simon could still pick out Kieren’s shiny eyes, the whites of them an eerie, almost luminescent glow in the dark.

“Can I see more of you?” Kieren whispered.

Simon swallowed thickly. No one had seen that raw black monstrosity on his back apart from Amy and the doctors that did it to him. But he owed this to Kieren, owed him his honesty and his openness. _No more secrets_ , Simon promised himself.

He peeled off his shirt as carefully as one might peel off a bandaid, almost wincing from the imagined feel of the cold air prickling at his skin. Who was he kidding? Dead men didn’t need warmth.

Kieren’s hand returned to its place over Simon’s silent heart, only this time his palm was against bare skin. Though he couldn’t feel it, not really, it was nearly enough to look. Simon relied mostly on imagined sensations when it came to this; he couldn’t feel the texture of Kieren’s skin, but his body did register the pressure of his touch. It was strange - like being disembodied, but not wholly and truly. Condemned forever to be half-tethered to his mortal body. 

Kieren’s free hand eventually travelled to the nape of Simon’s neck, and it wasn’t long before it was exploring a path downwards from the tip of his spine. His fingers came to a halt when they reached the edge of the scar.

“Simon,” Kieren said, in a tone that Simon knew meant he was scared but trying to conceal it. Simon didn’t have the words to talk about it just yet. Instead, he turned onto his other side and gave Kieren an up-close view.

“Oh,” Kieren said. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Sometimes,” Simon breathed through the panic in his gut, “there’s a phantom pain. Mostly it’s just numb, but there are twinges here and there.”

“So it’s okay if I...?”

“Absolutely.”

Kieren didn’t hesitate this time. He pressed his fingers along the edge of the wound, putting enough pressure that he was sure Simon could feel it, but taking care not to jostle the sutures.

“The people at the treatment facility did this to you?” Kieren asked. There was a hint of righteous fury in his voice, and Simon didn’t want to cross that bridge yet.

Simon couldn’t think of a good way to calm him, so instead of verbally expressing himself, he craned his neck around and kissed Kieren. The first kiss landed squarely on his cheek, the second one at the corner of his mouth, the third on his chin, just on the dip beneath his lower lip, and the fourth, finally, on his mouth. Kieren was evidently anticipating this, because his lips parted sweetly for Simon’s.

Kieren titled his head to better accommodate Simon’s position, but then quickly gave up on the awkward angle in favor of pulling Simon to face him again with a firm hand on his hip. Simon was more than willing to be face-to-face; he used the advantage to push forward and deepen the kiss, tracing his tongue along Kieren’s bottom lip. Kieren emitted a small, contented sound and then pulled back for a moment to catch a breath. In the next second he was lavishing kisses from the corner of Simon’s mouth to the bolt of his jaw. Simon’s eyes stayed closed for this. He couldn’t bear to see the raw affection on Kieren’s face, didn’t want to accept the absolution he might feel upon seeing it.

Simon felt a sudden sob threatening to burst from his lungs. He bit it back as best he could but could not help a tiny hitching sound from escaping his slack mouth. Kieren held on tighter, moved even closer. He nestled his head into the hollow of Simon’s throat, right where his pulse would be, and pressed a fluttering, open-mouthed kiss there too. He eventually fell asleep like that, breathing shallowly into the curve of Simon’s neck, one hand curled into his dark hair, the other resting over the scar.

Simon knew he was in trouble, then. He loved this boy - not with his heart, but with his soul. His heart was defunct, anyway.


End file.
